


Where Are You?

by releasethyrage



Category: Korean Actor RPF, Park Seo Joon - Fandom, Song fiction - Fandom
Genre: Drinking, Drinking to Cope, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:55:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27178193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/releasethyrage/pseuds/releasethyrage
Summary: Based on the song "Where Are You" by SIlverstein.You're not sure how you ended up at the little dive bar just a couple blocks away from your apartment. You frequently had these "blackout" moments but usually only when coming home from a long day at work. This time your mind was a bit preoccupied with thoughts of him to really pay attention.
Relationships: Park Seo Joon/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 5





	Where Are You?

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all. This is a songfic based on "Where Are You" by Silverstein. I was listening to their new album and this song really resonated with me and inspired me. As did Seo Joon's performance in What's Wrong with Secretary Kim?, obviously. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

_"I had that dream again_

_It scared me half to death_

_I guess I'm not over it_ "

* * *

You bolted upright in your bed, sweat slowly dripping down your forehead and heaving with labored breath. The cold, conditioned air of your small, one-bedroom apartment hit your equally damp back and chest, making you shiver involuntarily. You kicked off your weighted plush blanket that you spent an embarrassing amount of money on in a feeble attempt to aid your sleep. You swung your legs over the side of the bed and put your head between your legs. 

That fucking dream again.

You had always blamed your bad or weird dreams on overheating in your sleep but you still had the naive thought that if you slept without a blanket any time, a demon would grab your legs and drag you to the underworld. This dream, however, was making you seriously reconsider. You could go weeks - hell, even months sometimes - without having it and as soon as you felt like a normal human being again and had finally moved on, all that progress would be erased.

Some parts were consistent. You and him standing on a subway platform in what you assumed was Seoul, considering the amount of traffic. And probably all the Hangul on the signage. You would be chatting away, waiting for the next train one minute. The next there is a commotion and he ends up on the tracks.

Usually, it is just the two of you. Other times your older brother is present. And sometimes - rarely, but like tonight - life likes to particularly fuck you right in the feelings and add two children who were perfect miniature versions of yourselves. 

* * *

" _Feels like a heart attack_

_Could this breath be my last?_

_Is this how it ends?_ "

* * *

It always felt like this would surely be your demise. No amount of air you sucked in was sufficient, exacerbating your panic. It felt like someone had taken ahold of your heart and lungs simultaneously and squeezed. You clutched your chest and tried taking deep breaths, your head still between your knees.

* * *

" _But if I make my head stop spinning will my heart stop too?_

_Lost myself trying to hold on to you_

_(Where are you tonight?)"_

* * *

A couple of minutes that seemed like hours passed and your breathing finally evened out. Your pulse, while lower than it had been initially, was still quick. With one last deep breath, you lifted your head from between your knees and your gaze fell upon your cell phone on your nightstand. You picked it up and hit the lock button, squinting your eyes against the brightness. 

_11:06pm._

You went into your contacts and scrolled, stopping when you got to the P's. Your thumb paused over the name. Would he answer? Probably not. He hadn't answered your calls in years. Even before you had moved back to the United States. You hadn't actually called the number stored in your phone in, if you had to guess, the same amount of time. Occasionally when you felt the notion - usually after one of _those_ dreams - you'd send a text but they'd never receive a reply. This time, a text just didn't seem like enough.

" _The number you have dialed is no long-"_

You didn't even wait for the automatic message to finish.

* * *

_"Where are you tonight?_

_I can't get you out of my mind_

_Where are you tonight?_

_'Cause I still feel like I could flat line_

_Where are you tonight?"_

* * *

You're not sure how you ended up at the little dive bar just a couple blocks away from your apartment. You frequently had these "blackout" moments but usually only when coming home from a long day at work. This time your mind was a bit preoccupied with thoughts of him to really pay attention. "Is he actually okay?" "Where is he?" "What is he doing right now?" "Why did I think calling that number would work when I know he had it changed?" Before you knew it, you were pushing open the front door that you could tell actually belonged on an actual residence and not a business.

You ungracefully plopped yourself in a rickety stool at the counter and ordered your usual from the bartender.

"Keep 'em comin'," you demanded, downing the first beer in less than a minute. "And a couple more shots too."

* * *

_"And if I set the scene_

_Inside a memory_

_I feel you breathing_

_But I'm a masochist_

_Hit me like a thousand bricks_

_That you're out, and I'm down, and I'm wondering"_

* * *

You lost yourself in the memories. The good, the bad, and the ugly. Hugging him when the soccer team won their match. Being clutched to his chest on the floor of your grandfather's hospice room when he passed away because you lost your ability to stand. The look on his face on your last day in Korea.

You recalled them so vividly, you could swear you felt his arms around you. Your skin broke out in goosebumps and your hairs stood on end. Obviously, that was ridiculous. He was in Korea, probably out filming his next drama, living his best life. And you were in a shitty little bar in hometown, drowning your sorrows with cheap beer and Vodka.

* * *

_"If I make my head stop spinning will my heart stop too?_

_Lost myself trying to hold on to you_

_(Where are you tonight?)"_

* * *

You were properly wasted by the time you realized you were starting to get angry. Your grip on your pint glass had turned your knuckles white. You had thought you had built a solid relationship during his four years here. While nothing overtly sexual had happened between you, there was _something_ there. Something more than friendship. Something more than you just being the little sister of his best friend.

So strongly you felt that _something_ that you had decided to move to Korea after high school. Things had been great for a little while. You would meet up for lunch or dinner at least three times a week. You would crash at each other's places every now and then after a night of watching TV or a movie. But, eventually, your outings became less frequent although you still talked on the phone every couple of days. Until the phone calls stopped too. Despite that, you still held on hope.

It took you a year working odd jobs to wrack up enough money to come back. Most days, you worked three different jobs with barely enough time in between to eat, much less have anything of a social life. Or any hobbies. During that year, there was almost no contact whatsoever. 

Until the day you finished packing and was about to start heading to the airport.

* * *

_"Have I seen you for the last time?_

_Am I moving with the low tide?_

_Am I a shadow in your headlights?_

_Or am I lying in an outline?_

_Am I a shadow in your headlights?"_

* * *

He showed up at your apartment as you were gathering your things for your carry-on luggage and making arrangements to have the rest of your belongings shipped home. You were too distracted, making sure you had your identification and ticket readily available in your purse to notice him in the open doorway. If he was there long, you weren't sure, but when you turned and saw him, he looked on the verge of tears. You scoffed and rolled your eyes.

"When were you going to tell me you're leaving?" he asked, voice cracking.

"Save the crying for your dramas. It doesn't look good on you," you retorted. "And I did. Or I tried to. About two weeks ago. Check your messages."

He immediately pulled his shiny, state-of-the-art smartphone from the pocket of his fancy, designer bomber jacket.

"I...got a new phone."

Another scoff and roll of your eyes.

"Well, that explains it then... I'm going to miss my flight."

You said the words but your body refused to actually make the necessary movements to leave. You could feel his eyes boring into your body but you couldn't meet them. You knew your resolve would shatter and you were never good at confrontations. How much time had passed just standing there in silently was anyone's guess. All you knew was that it felt like hours until the silence was finally broken by his footsteps echoing throughout the empty apartment.

"I'm sorry," he said wrapping an arm around your shoulders while the other pulled your head into his chest and held it. "So sorry. Please don't go."

It was taking everything in you but your arms didn't move to reciprocate the embrace. Nor did your mouth move to accept the apology, sincere as you knew it was. You couldn't. If you did, you knew the wall would crumble and you would cave and stay. You also knew that even if you did stay, with his growing fame, nothing would change. In fact, it would only get worse. You would only get further behind him. But something needed to be said. The new silence that had fallen was killing you.

"You'll be fine," you muttered into his shoulder before pulling away. "I really need to leave now. I'm going to miss my flight."

You walked around him while he stood still in the middle of the living room. Just before you were going to reach the door, the silence was broken yet again.

"Will I ever see you again?"

You sighed and stopped in the doorway. Every muscle wanted to turn around and tell him you wouldn't leave but you fought against them hard.

"Just pretend I died."

And with that, you left.

* * *

_"Where are you tonight?_

_I can't get you out of my mind_

_Where are you tonight?_

_'Cause I still feel like I could flat line_

_Where are you tonight?_

_Where are you tonight?"_

* * *

You sighed, much like you did that last day in Korea in the doorway of your apartment. In the midst of your reverie, you had failed to notice your glass was empty. The bartender, whose name you definitely would have remembered if you were anywhere closer to sober than you were, took your glass and began cleaning it.

While waiting for the next round of your medicine, you shakily pulled your phone out of the pocket of your green army jacket. You closed your eyes. You tried to reason it was because the screen was too bright in the poorly lit bar but, if you were to be completely honest with yourself, it was because you were scared. Scared to see a response. Scared to not see a response.

_1:05pm. No new notifications._

You sighed for probably the thousandth time that night. Despite knowing that was the most likely scenario, you'd be lying if you said you weren't disappointed.

"Where are you tonight...Park Seo Joon?" you whispered, staring at your lock screen.

You jumped and almost fell off the stool when your phone began vibrating.

_Call from -Unknown Number-_

* * *

_"Where are you tonight?_

_'Cause every second is a lifetime"_

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> If you got this far, congratulations are in order! This is my first time writing in a second-person perspective so I hope I didn't do horribly. If you enjoyed this, please drop a kudos and comment to let me know! I have ideas to expand upon this in a longer works. Also, if you like Silverstein, let me know what your favorite song from the new album is! Thanks for your time!


End file.
